


The New Normal

by overratedantihero



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: But with some exception, Canon Divergence, Domestic, Family, Multi, Slice of Life, Suburbia, largely New52 and Rebirth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-12-01 22:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: When Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent decided to get married, they agreed to try and do things right. However, their children aren't so convinced that should mean moving into Gotham's suburbia. The Wayne-Kents nevertheless try their hand at homemaking, without sacrificing their vigilante heroism.





	1. Playing House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarahworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahworm/gifts).



> Gotham is in New Jersey, Metropolis is in New York. Jon is 11, Damian is 13, Tim is 16, Cassandra is 17, Jason is 20, and Dick is 22. There will be several more characters and happenings as the story goes on, and I will tag accordingly as I post updates. Each chapter will be a slice-of-life peek in the Wayne-Kent household, complete with holidays, PTA meetings, and family shenanigans. Lois and Selina will both still be in the picture. And I'm always open to requests and suggestions!

**HEIR TO WAYNE ENTERPRISES ABANDONS MANOR FOR SUBURBS**

"Clark, put the paper away. You'll ruin your breakfast," Bruce insisted, lifting his mug of coffee to sip. Clark obliged him, setting aside the paper to instead prop his chin up and smile at his husband. Across the table, Jon wolfed down biscuits and Damian sneaked pieces of waffle to Titus.

"I may still work at the Daily Planet, but I still think it’s healthy to study the local bylines. Just in case I do decide to transfer," Clark murmured. "Damian, eat your food."

"Tsk," Damian retorted, although he took a conciliatory bite of waffle. He didn’t entirely approve of their new arrangement, but he wasn’t about to scorn his father’s husband in front of his father. He couldn’t care less that his father’s husband was also Superman.

"Yeah, eat or you’re going to be shrimpy forever, and shrimps don’t get to be Batman," Jason jabbed, shoveling bacon in his mouth as if it were his last meal. Clark guessed he wasn't used to others cooking for him. At least not since he'd died and then began his own career. Granted, that career was entrenched in the Gotham criminal underground, but Clark was taking a nonjudgmental approaching to child rearing. And at least he kept better health than Dick, who was shoveling sweets from the kitchen cupboards into his messenger bag.

"Jason," Bruce warned. Jason made a face but didn't jeer any further.

That is, until Dick added, unable to help himself, "Jason, you have no room to talk. You were itty bitty until puberty. And even then, it took a few years for you to bulk up. At least I had gymnastics as an excuse." Satisfied with his kitchen loot, Dick settled in a seat at the table and plucked a biscuit from where they rested in the middle of the table. Bless Clark and Midwestern culinary sensibilities.

"Listen here, Golden Boy," Jason started.

"Don't," Cass murmured quietly as she piled berries on her waffle. The boys obliged her with and Clark counted small blessings.

Tim stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Clark worried he may have counted his blessings too soon.

"This house is too quiet," Tim mumbled, glancing over the table spread. "Gonna hook up a stereo or something. The manor had good acoustics."

"Sounds of the Manor, an album, by Timmy," Dick offered.

"And, better, enough rooms so that Drake and I didn't have to share," Damian muttered. Titus whined for more waffles, but Clark was still watching and by extension so was Bruce. Damian slipped the dog a small piece anyway, glaring at Clark in a silent dare for him to say something. Bruce raised his eyebrows, and Damian begrudgingly averted his eyes.

"Beds of the Manor, a treatise, by Damian," Dick amended.

"That's enough boys. We’re doing things right from here on out,” Bruce said, setting his mug down hard for emphasis.

"Since when did right mean the suburbs?" Jason muttered. “Keep in mind, Goldie and I are only here because you bribed us. This isn’t an endorsement.”

"It's for the best," Bruce said sternly. "Besides. This protects our nighttime operations by separating work and home. The manor is in good hands with Alfred, and we'll visit on break."

"I'm going to miss Alfred," Tim sighed. He leaned on Dick’s chair and it looked for a moment like he would nod off again. He closed his eyes and did.

"Mmhm," Cass agreed.

"Alfred," Dick sighed wistfully.

"It's not like he's dead," Clark mumbled. Everyone at the table, including Bruce, gasped and gawked at Clark.

"How could you!" Damian snapped.

"Seriously, Clark. Rude," Dick huffed. “Saying shit like that is bad luck.”

"Alfred's fucking immortal, fuck off," Jason supplied.

Clark looked helplessly at Bruce, but Bruce blinked once and said, "Alfred's fucking immortal." Clark furrowed his brows and gasped in betrayal.

Across the table, Jon not-so-quietly asked Damian, "I'm not allowed to say bad words at Mom's house, can I say them here?"

Clark, Bruce, Jason, and Dick all said, "no," at the same time. Jon's mouth snapped shut and he grinned sheepishly at Clark.

"I have it on good authority that Todd use profane language often in his youth, I do not see why Jon should be denied the same privilege," Damian retorted, if only to argue. Jason scoffed.

"It wasn't a privilege, kid. Luckily for Kent, we had different childhoods."

Damian opened his mouth to apparently snap back, but Dick caught Damian's eye and shook his head.

"It's not appropriate, Dami. You and Jon both deserve to be kids, and part of being a kid is using polite language... unless at Titan Tower or with friends, then you can say whatever the fuck you want, but keep it in otherwise."

Damian spared him a conspiratorial grin and Dick reached out for a high five, which both Damian and Jon returned.

Tim, shockingly still awake, added, "'S a good skill to learn. Compartmentalizing cursing." He reached across the table and poured himself a cup of coffee. He drank it black until the mug was drained before promptly filling his cup again.

Clark buried his face in his hands. "Is everyone at least ready for school," he asked his palms.

"Sure am," Dick snarked. “But seriously, I’m getting ready to head out to the community center soon. Preferably with the donation you so graciously promised me.” Dick would have shown up even without the bribe, but he wasn’t going to turn down an offer to help the center while also earning it by participating in Bruce’s newest poorly-justified scheme.

"I'm literally only giving you the time of day because you somehow managed to swing my enrollment," Jason said. "Otherwise I would have bounced as soon as I heard your plan to play house."

"It's not the university you deserve, but I'm hoping you'll enjoy yourself regardless," Bruce offered. "Let me know when you need money for books. And food. And laundry."

Jason gave him a funny look. "I've got my own income, old man. And my own laundry room. You missed out on sending me off to college proper, don’t try to start now."

Bruce shrugged, taking a long draw from his coffee before saying, "The offer is open for as long as you're in school."

"I don't think you have to bribe him to go to class," Dick mused. "He's not me."

"Don't you fucking forget it," Jason hissed. Dick smirked and Cass gently kicked Jason from under the table, just so that he'd tear his glare from Dick long enough to wink at her.

"Be nice," she reminded Jason. Jason saluted her.

"Just for you. Anyway, I'm out.” Jason scraped his chair back, grabbed his bag, and left the table.

"Have a good day," Clark called after Jason, but Jason was already gone, slamming the door behind him. "I'm glad he has an outlet aside from vigilantism now."

Bruce popped a blackberry in his mouth. "I don't see a problem with vigilantism. Kids need hobbies."

"Of course you'd say that," Tim snorted. Dick reached across the table to make a plate for Tim and hand it to him. Tim grinned gratefully and plopped down in Jason's abandoned seat to eat. He poured himself a third cup of coffee.

"Look at us," Jon beamed. "We’re almost a real family.”  

There was a tense pause before Damian tsked, "I suppose."

Cass grinned and nudged Dick with her shoulder. Dick swung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. Tim flicked a blueberry at Damian, who caught it midair and catapulted it back, striking Tim's eye. Tim shouted indignantly and Jon laughed at Damian as Damian stuck out his tongue.

Clark let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. They could never be a normal family, but they could at least try and be a family.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce talk to the kids about sex.

Tim tapped his pencil against the blank notebook he wasn’t using. He flipped another page through the textbook he wasn’t reading. For the nth time in the past fifteen minutes, he gave his alarm clock an irate glare. Damian and Bruce would be home in the next few hours, Tim only had so much time alone in his room and _someone_ was squandering-

The creak of his window sliding open was the only warning Tim got before Kon-El tumbled into his room. Tim dropped his pencil and crossed his arms.

“Took you long enough,” Tim muttered. Unfazed, Kon-El winked at him as he brushed his clothes off and stood.

“Shoulda thought about that before you moved to the suburbs with a Kryptonian. Sneaking into your room just isn’t the same as it was in the manor.”

Unable to help himself, Tim dropped the façade of anger and stood with a cheeky grin. He strode across the room to Kon, and wrapped his arms around Kon’s broad shoulders. “Oh? So, you can’t take a challenge?”

Kon-El scoffed. He rolled his eyes. He picked Tim up so that Tim could wrap his legs around Kon’s waist. “I can _always_ take a challenge. It just takes time to stage an emergency to get Superdad out of the house and all.”

Tim’s eyes widened. “You didn’t!”

Kon-El grinned wolfishly.

 

 

* * *

 

“We need to talk about the boys,” Clark said, arms crossed, from where he perched in Bruce’s chair. Bruce might have been worried, except Clark was dressed in a flannel and jeans, even if his glasses were conspicuously missing. Behind him, the several screens that made up the Batcomputer were replaying a peaceful scene from a quiet Metropolis.

“Is now the time?” Bruce asked, stepping out of the Batmobile even as Damian leaped out. Bruce pointedly glanced at Damian to emphasize his point. Damian scoffed.

“Clearly Kent isn’t talking about me, and if he were, it’d be unfounded,” Damian said, stalking off the elevator that was already opening to reveal Alfred and a tray of post-patrol snacks.

Without saying a work, Clark turned back towards the computer’s control panels and pressed a key for audio. The scene on the screen suddenly exploded with the sound. Screams and sirens filled the Batcave, and Damian clapped his hands against his ears. Alfred’s mouth twitched down, and he gripped the tray he was holding tighter. Bruce frowned.

“Enough, Clark. What’s your point?”

Clark turned off the audio and faced Bruce again. “Kon-El planted speakers around Metropolis, blaring _that_. These speakers.” Clark plucked a black box from a nearby table and tossed it at Bruce, who caught it. Branded on the side was a bat symbol.

“Oh,” Bruce said. Damian paused with a cookie halfway to his mouth to glance between Clark and Bruce as he tried to decipher what happened.

“Master Damian, you still have a gaming system in the Manor and Wayne Enterprises was recently gifted a few new releases from a local tech company. Why don’t we test those out on behalf of your father?”

Damian looked torn for a moment, but he conceded to the siren song of video games. Damian and Alfred absconded up the elevator, leaving Bruce and Clark alone.

“You think Tim gave him the speakers,” Bruce said, tugging down the cowl. His face was impassive.

“Yes. And I think Kon planted them in Metropolis to get me out of the house.”

“So, that they could…” Bruce finally had the decency to look embarrassed before he melted into a blank slate again. “Well. We knew they were seeing each other. Even before we married. We can’t expect them to change their behavior on our account.”

“Yes, but shouldn’t we, I don’t know, talk to them? Not just Tim and Kon, but all the children. You know. About healthy relationships? And being safe? And why they shouldn’t fabricate emergencies so that they can fool around in their fathers’ house?” Clark’s arms uncrossed, and his voice took on a pleading lilt.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see why.”  

Clark sat back in the chair and raised his eyebrows at Bruce. He held up one index finger. “Tim and Kon are sneaking behind our back, and causing a ruckus when they do.” He held up another finger. “Jason is running around with Roy Harper and Koriand’r doing God knows what. Not to mention when Jason involved himself with Rose Wilson, which reminds me” Finally, he held up a third finger, “Dick spends far too much time with Deathstroke, and with the Midnighter, and there was the Raptor incident, and even his former Spyral partners, Tiger and Helena….”

“Dick is attentive in his work, he sometimes works with less than savory characters as Nightwing. I don’t see how that relates to our children’s love lives,” Bruce retorted, shedding the cape and cowl completed as he began to undress.

“Really, Bruce? You really don’t see how your son spending excessive amounts of time with villains and former villains could be indicative of something unhealthy?”

“We all spend excessive amounts of time with villains, Clark. Your point is moot.”

Clark sighed. He didn’t want it to come to this. “Sure, Bruce. How are Talia and Selina, by the way?”

Bruce froze as he was removing is gauntlet. For a moment, Clark worried that Bruce was stuck that way until Bruce slowly slid the glove from his hand. “That’s not… that’s different, Clark,” Bruce warned. “Dick… Dick knows better than to…”

“Does he, Bruce?” Clark’s eyebrows were perfectly arched, his mouth in a hard, practiced line. Even though he was dressed for home, Clark’s sharp posture and tilted chin left no doubt that this was Kal-El of Krypton every bit as much as he was Clark Kent, father. He’d anticipated this conversation being a difficult one, but he’d also anticipated Bruce’s response to being reminded of his own villainous dalliances. Thus, he wasn’t surprised when Bruce’s shoulders hunched forward.

Bruce sighed and roughly tore off his other gauntlet. “Fine. We’ll talk to the children.”

“Thank you, dear,” Clark cooed sweetly as he let his own shoulders fall. “I’m glad we can have these hard conversations.”

Bruce shot him a look, and so Clark took his leave (after briefly kissing his disgruntled husband on the cheek.)

 

* * *

 

 

“Dude, why am I here,” Kon whined, slumped down low into the couch while Tim fidgeted nervously by his side. On Kon’s other side, Dick was perched on the top of the couch, his feet planted on the cushion. Jason was on the couch next to his legs, trying to subtly knock him over by shifting. Cass sat cross legged on the recliner, reaching down to pet Titus’s head.

“You know exactly why you’re here,” Tim shot back, propping his chin in his hand from where his elbow balanced on the couch arm.

“Care to share with the class?” Jason grumbled. Dick flopped back onto the couch next to Jason, before Jason could effectively shove him off.

“Yeah,” Dick said. “If it’s a family meeting like Clark said, where’re Jon and Dami?”

Kon and Tim shared a glance. Before they could come up with a suitable excuse, Clark and Bruce entered the room. Bruce wore a black button up and dark wash jeans. He had half-tucked his shirt. Clark wore a red flannel, untucked, over pale, work jeans. His glasses perched on his nose.

“What the fuck is this?” Jason hissed, backing further into the couch. Dick narrowed his eyes and Tim buried his face in his hands. Cass and Kon looked curiously onwards.

Bruce and Clark sat in the love seat in front of the children. Clark clasped his hands together.

“We thought, given recent events,” Clark began, glancing at Tim and Kon. Tim looked up, horrified, face red, and Kon laughed even as Clark continued, “we needed to talk. About, um…” Clark glanced at Bruce pleadingly. They should have rehearsed.

“Sex,” Bruce finished, deadpanning the word.

Jason stood up with a “Nope! Not happening!”

Dick dragged Jason back down by his shirt. Jason thrust his elbow at Dick, who tackled him into the couch in retaliation. Tim slumped further into the couch and covered his face with this hands. Cass still looked curious, and Titus stood and lumbered out of the room, probably to find Damian.

“Boys,” Bruce snapped. Dick and Jason froze. “Separate,” Bruce said.

“We don’t have to listen to you,” Jason huffed, but Dick disentangled himself from Jason and sat back on the couch obediently. “Other war lords don’t bother talking to their child soldiers about sex, I don’t see why you’re trying to break the mold, Bruce,” Jason added. Dick elbowed him in the side.

“We just want you to be making healthy decisions,” Clark explained. “You’re all in a peculiar position because of well… you’re all heroes. And sometimes the stress of trying to help everyone means we forget to help ourselves.”

“Condoms. Always. No exceptions,” Bruce said. “27.1% of New Jersey was diagnosed with HIV in 2014. That’s higher than the national average. No exceptions.”

“And always be sure you trust the people you’re seeing,” Clark said, pointedly glancing at Dick. Dick cocked his head in confusion. “Sex, especially for people like us, is a very intimate, careful thing.”

Jason raised his hand. Delighted by his seemingly polite participation, Clark gestured to him.

“Is this because of Damian? No one else in this room, except for Bruce, has sex with assassins from the League. That’s a him issue.”

Tim, who had otherwise remained silent to avoid drawing attention to himself, snorted. “Yeah, you just sleep with people from a mystic organization called the All-Caste, nothing concerning there.”

It was a tactically poor choice, because Jason turned to him with vengeance. “Okay, right, says the one boning his step-dad’s clone.”

Bruce grumbled as he lost control of the room, while Clark looked on helplessly. Jason and Tim were openly bickering. Cass was hiding behind her cellphone. Kon was trying to keep Jason and Tim apart. Dick finally stood up and whistled harshly, temporarily silencing the room.

“If anyone needs condoms or lube, I have some, feel free to ask. Try not to do anything with your SOs in this house, it’s too cramped for that, just go to a safe house or to their apartments, warehouses, or spaceships. Whichever. If you have any specific questions, there’s the internet. Whoever you’re sleeping with, it’s none of our businesses. Are we good?”

There was a muttered consensus and then a hurried escape as Tim, Kon, Jason, and Cass excused themselves. When it was just Dick, Clark, and Bruce, Clark cleared his throat.

“Where…?” Clark began.

Dick cracked an easy grin. “I was the leader of the Teen Titans, and Alfred gave me tons of advice when managing the team got difficult.” His smiled melted as he grew more serious. “If Tim and Kon were the issue, you needed to talk to them separately. We’ll let you know if we need this kind of attention. As it is, we’re all still getting used to our Full House setup. Let’s not make it any more awkward than it has to be.”

Bruce gave him a brusque nod, and Dick took his leave. As soon as he was out of sight, and presumably out of earshot, Bruce looked at Clark.

“He’s hiding something. I need you to track him and find out who he’s seeing that he doesn’t want us to know about.”

Clark jerked back. “Bruce! What he just did was a kindness, I don’t see how…”

“No, what he did was try to avert our scrutiny. If you don’t follow him, I will.” Bruce crossed his arms and lifted his chin.

Clark sighed. “This is not healthy parenting.”

Bruce stared at him. “Talia, Clark,” Bruce said. Clark huffed in defeat.

“Fine, but you’re the one taking the fall for this when it inevitably goes awry,” Clark began, as he tuned into each of the children’s pulses. He frowned, eyebrows furrowing and voice trailing away. Bruce waited, but when Clark remained silent, Bruce cleared his throat.

“Clark?”

Clark glanced at Bruce, face scrunched. “I don’t hear Dick’s heartbeat… _anywhere_.”

“Point. In case,” Bruce growled, pulling out his cellphone and heading towards the door.  

“Bruce, what are you doing?” Clark followed after as Bruce slung the door open. Bruce paused to glance at Clark, gravely.

“Calling in a favor.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Bruce clash over Dick's new boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I retconned Duke into my fic. I wasn't super familiar with Duke until fairly recently (I don't actually read Detective Comics or Batman) and he's a part of the family and so I definitely don't want to neglect to include him. Expect future chapters to feature him more prominently as I brush up on his character.

“I love all my children equally, I do. Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke, Cassandra. I love them. But Dick, Dick has always been so _easy_. As Robin he was so quick, so smart, so eager to please. Even though I know he hates it, he’s never hesitated to take on the cowl because he _gets_ it. He knows that Gotham needs Batman. We’ve had our fights, he left home for a while, but he’s always come back. And he’s better than me. He’ll never succeed me because he’ll always be better than the cowl. So _why_ is he doing this to me now?”

Clark sat stock still in the passenger seat of Bruce’s BMW as Bruce ranted. Clark had never heard Bruce utter so many words consecutively. Clark wasn’t sure if Bruce had even paused for breath. Outside, the New Jersey countryside flew by and Clark, not for the first time, hesitantly cleared his throat.

“Honey. Lamb. I think I should drive,” he suggested. Bruce shot him a glare and Clark shut his mouth. Punitively, Bruce pressed further into the gas pedal and Clark watched the speedometer creep forward. After a few minutes of terse silence, Clark tried again.

“Where are we going, Bruce? I could fly us there, get us there quicker.”

“We’re meeting colleagues in a field as far away from civilization as possible while still conveniently in-state,” Bruce said.

Clark swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else he should say. “What, uh. What colleagues?”

Bruce glanced at him. “You won’t like it.”

Clark sighed in resignation. And then, to be petty, Clark leaned over and turned the radio onto a country station. Bruce’s hand lifted but Clark grabbed it.

“Nope. If you’re doing whatever this is, we’re listening to Johnny Cash in the meantime,” Clark said sharply. Bruce dropped his hand and Clark laced their fingers together.  

The drive didn’t last much longer. Several miles from the last house they passed, Bruce pulled his car off road and put in in park.

“You can wait in here if you want,” Bruce offered. Clark furrowed his brows, but then a great tear appeared seemingly in reality, and Clark suddenly understood.

Magic.

A massive house, which just barely fell short of the Manor’s size, dropped into the expansive field in front of them. A half-mile away, a cow looked up lazily before returning to grazing.

As soon as the house settled, Bruce stepped out of the car. Not one to be left behind, even if he was limited against magic, Clark scrambled after him. From the house’s threshold, John Constantine materialized alongside Zatanna Zatara.

“Bruce--” Clark began, voice strained.

“Bruce!” Zatanna squealed, descending the house’s steps two at a time. She ran towards Bruce, throwing her arms around his neck. Bruce offered her a small smile and pat her on the back. Constantine leaned against a pillar on the wrap around porch, looking disgruntled.

“This isn’t a social call, Zatanna,” Bruce gently reminded Zatanna. She separated from him, and placed her hands on her hips.

“Yes, but it’s been a while since you’ve called. I was hoping your new married life would open you up to some old friends too. I’ve missed you, Bruce.”

Clark watched as Bruce’s exterior cracked, just a fraction. And he reveled in it. He remembered when Bruce was opposed to personal relationships. He remembered Bruce isolating himself from his children, his friends, and his teammates. It was a testament to his growth that Bruce even called for help now, and that he could give Zatanna this small concession.

“We’ll talk, Zatanna. Later. Dick is missing.”

“What’s stopping the big guy from reaching him, eh?” Constantine finally spoke from around a cigarette. He jerked his head in Clark’s direction.

Clark wet his lips. “I can’t hear him,” he said, voice deflated. “Anywhere. Not his heartbeat, not his voice. Nothing.”

Constantine’s lips curled up. “Well that’s something, isn’t it?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Do it again, and I will cut off every single one of your fingers,” Midnighter warned, pointing the eight-inch Damascus chef’s knife right between Dick’s eyes. Dick’s eyes crossed as he tried to glance at the point even as he reached out and plucked another cherry tomato out from the pan that Midnighter was guarding like a hawk. A hawk with a soft spot for this particular scavenger. Dick grinned as he popped his prize into his mouth and Midnighter rolled his eyes, lowering the knife.

“It’s impossible to make dinner for you,” M complained. “You just eat all of the ingredients.” He turned the stovetop heat higher, and drizzled some more balsamic vinegar into the pan. Dick hopped onto the counter.

“That’s not true, there’s plenty of food left,” he retorted. “I only took, like, five tomatoes.”

“I don’t know how your butler hasn’t murdered you yet, Grayson,” Midnighter said. “If I were him, I would have murdered you.”

“You know, Alfred always did tell me that mean kids on the playground just had crushes on me,” Dick smirked. Midnighter set down his knife and placed his hands on either side of Dick, leaning in close.

“No, Grayson,” he murmured, close to Dick’s lips. “You’ve just got a real punchable face.”

Dick kissed him then, and Midnighter leaned into it. So much so that neither of them noticed their guest until Constantine flicked his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with his foot. Immediately, Midnighter ducked and Dick launched himself off the counter by stepping forward on Midnighter’s shoulder and then jumping off and towards Constantine.

“Bloody hell!” Constantine shouted once Dick threw him to the ground, all Nightwing even without the uniform. He pressed his forearm against Constantine’s throat while Midnighter sauntered over from Constantine’s side. As soon as Dick recognized Constantine, though, he released the pressure on his trachea and scrambled off.

“John Constantine?” Dick asked, just to be sure. Midnighter shot Dick a sharp glance but didn’t move to restrain Constantine as he sat up, rubbing his throat.

“Can’t say that’s the worst greeting I’ve ever got,” Constantine shrugged, standing and dropping his arms. “Can’t say I enjoyed that either.”

“What are you doing here,” Midnighter pressed, crossing his arms. Even without his cowl, he was imposing. At least Dick thought so, and it sent a thrill up Dick’s spine.

“Daddy sent me,” Constantine said. Dick physically flinched, as if doused with ice water.

“There’s no way he knows I’m here!” Dick insisted, stepping back from Constantine. “Clark can’t either, he can’t-”

“Hear you? That’s what he said,” Constantine smirked. “They send me to find the wayward son. Clever hiding between dimensions like this. Nothing even a mediocre locator spell can’t find. Now come along home, so that I can leave.”

“This is just like Bruce!” Dick continued, throwing his hands up. “He’s such a control freak! I told you he tried to give us a fucking sex talk over Tim and Kon, right?” He glanced back at Midnighter, who looked like he was biting back laughter.

“Yes, yeah, I think you mentioned something along those lines,” Midnighter said, covering his face with his palm to hide his grin.

“M, really?” Dick spat back. Midnighter lifted his head and the grin that split his mouth actually looked pretty charming. Dick melted, but only a fraction.

“Sorry, kid. Just like a rich boy to get dragged back by his Daddy. I’m guessing even after my last little playdate with your family, he’s not a fan of how I operate?”

“Bruce can be…” Dick bit his lip, “stubborn.”

“Go home, Grayson,” Midnighter said, shaking his head. “If you need me, call me,” he added, tapping his neck. Dick reached up and touched his own neck where he knew Midnighter tagged him with a smartmark.

“Fine,” Dick grumbled. “Save me a plate?” he added, looking longingly over at the stove. Midnighter ruffes his hair before squeezing him close by his shoulders.

“Sure. Anything to keep you from eating cereal.”

Constantine lifted his arms and looked prepared to cast a spell, so Midnighter shook his head. “Door,” Midnighter commanded, and one appeared. Constantine lifted an eyebrow.

“Well that’s nifty,” he noted. Dick rolled his eyes, pecked Mdinighter on the cheek, and disappeared through the door, Constantine following close after.

They appeared on the other side at the Manor, not at Constantine’s House of Mystery. Constantine offered to give Dick directions to his fathers, but Dick opted to borrow one of Bruce’s cars to drive home (not before visiting with Alfred.)

When Dick arrived home, Bruce and Clark weren’t anywhere to be found. Tim was on the couch, and he lurched up when Dick entered the front door.

“Hey, Dick, what happened? Bruce has been locked in his study for an hour, he and Clark came home bickering.”

Dick chewed his lip. “Nothing. I went to a friend’s place. They sent someone after me. I came home.” Dick shrugged. “Nothing happened.”

But when Dick walked by the study, he could see the light on. He tried the door knob, but it was locked. And so, he went to his shared room with Jason, crawled into his bed, and pulled a blanket over his head.

This wasn’t the first time he and Bruce had fought. He and Bruce fought all of the time, especially when Dick first became Nightwing. But the house was so small compared to the Manor, and Dick could practically feel Bruce’s displeasure emanating every time they passed one another of the course of the next few days. Clark was cheerier, but even he was strained, and Dick heard him and Bruce bickering more than once.

Dick felt bad for casting such a shadow in their cramped house, and so he threw himself into the family. He took Jon and Damian to the arcade frequently. He took Duke on patrol with him, and taught him the same acrobatic moves he’d tried to teach the others (although only Damian really took to them so far.) Afterwards, he and Dick got burgers, because Dick didn’t want Duke’s time with him to be dominated by training and vigilantism, not now that he was part of the family. Dick even took Cassandra to a ballet performance with Kate, even though he could hardly sit still through it. But when Jason and he sparred in the Manor’s gym, Dick was more vicious than usual, in trying to mimic Jason’s style, and finally, Jason stopped the session.

“Dude, what the fuck? You’ve been acting off,” Jason accused. “Stop that. There can only be so much brooding at one time, and I have a monopoly on it.”

Dick panted and pushed his slick hair back. “Bruce hasn’t spoken to me in a week,” Dick confessed. “He hasn’t even looked at me. Clark’s been nice, but. Clark’s not. You know.”

“Your dad. Neither is Bruce,” Jason narrowed his eyes. Jason was goading him, Dick knew. But Dick still felt the pain lick up from his chest.

“He’s. He is. He’s my father, he’s the only father I’ve had since I was young, and I hate this,” Dick spat. “I hate that he won’t talk to me, I hate that he’s punishing me. I hate that this house is too small to escape him. I hate that I haven’t even tried.”

Dick looked up and Jason had his cellphone pointed at him.

“Little Wing, what are you doing?” Dick asked, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your little meltdown,” Jason said, peeking up from the screen. “It’s just, I so rarely get to see you _not_ defend Bruce, I thought I’d commemorate. Save it for a rainy day.”

Dick launched himself at Jason, and they wrestled over the phone until it had skidded out of both their grasps. They lay sprawled on the ground, laughter shaking their shoulders. Dick relished the moment; he and Jason were getting better, but that didn’t mean it was easy for either of them to be congenial or honest or playful.

“You’re right, though,” Dick said, sitting up. Jason sat up too, and raised an eyebrow.

“About?” he asked, snatching his phone up from the floor.

“Bruce is fallible. He does shit like this. I can’t control that, but I don’t have to play his game.” Dick stared up at the ceiling. Bruce could ice him out all he wanted, but Dick wasn’t about to do the same. Dick cared about this family, and he wanted to make it work.

“Wow, didn’t realize I had been so talkative,” Jason murmured. “Let me know how that works out for you, Goldie.”

Dick stood, brushing himself off. He strode over to the benches along the wall and plucked up a towel, mopping up sweat from his brow. “Yeah. I will.”

Later, when Dick returned home, he paused outside Bruce’s closed study. He knocked twice and when Bruce didn’t answer, Dick tried the door. It was unlocked this time. He swung the door open and poked his head in. Bruce was hunched over his desk, his tablet casting a blueish glow over the hard planes of his face.

“Hey, Bruce. I’m going to spend the night with M tonight. I wanted to make sure that you knew where I was, so that you wouldn’t worry.” Dick hesitated before adding, “I love you.”

Dick ducked out and closed the door behind him. Before he could scramble down the hall, Dick (very faintly) caught, “I love you too.”

(The next afternoon, when Dick returned home, he found tickets to Cirque de Soleil on his pillow with a note written in Bruce’s distinct script _invite him over for dinner sometime_.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to explore Dick's relationship with the family a bit more. Hope y'all enjoyed!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's school has an outbreak of strep throat. Jon can get sick, but the rest of the family... well.

Jon returning from a week with Lois was always an event. Alfred even scheduled Damian’s home schooling around it- as soon as Lois’s car pulled into the driveway, Damian was gone with a quick silence that betrayed his parentage. He’d re-materialize in the front lawn. Clark would follow after, somehow unable to beat Damian outside, and Clark and Lois would talk while the boys absconded upstairs.

This Sunday was no different; the boys scampered back into the house as soon as they reunited. With Bruce gone for the weekend (unfortunately, at a Wayne Tech event in Coast City. He was sure to return unamused) and Dick, Tim, and Jason out with their respective capes and cowl cohorts, all-day video game marathon was in order. Clark knew that Bruce didn’t like the boys sitting in front of the television all day, but Clark could never bring himself to deny them the things that let them be children.

And so, Clark stayed in the driveway with Lois, even as he could hear the television flicker on in the living room. Besides, he loved hearing about Lois’s most recent award nomination.

“Oh! By the way, and I have _no_ idea how pertinent this is, but strep throat is catching at Jon’s school,” Lois said, interrupting herself. “Jon, of course, didn’t catch it, and I don’t think he will. I know Damian is home schooled and the other boys are too old to attend Jon’s school, but I’m not completely sure if Jon’s capable of carrying the disease.”

Clark frowned. With how closely packed the family was, an illness would spready very quickly, and his husband and children didn’t have the sense to rest. But, Jon didn’t have the disease, this probably wasn’t cause for concern.

“Thanks for letting me know, Lois. I’m sure it’ll be fine. The boys are sturdy, and if Jon can’t catch a bacteria, he probably can’t spread it. Besides, I never carried when I was his age, even during flu season.”

Lois smiled and patted his chest. “It was nice seeing you, Clark. Tell Bruce I said hi.”

Clark resisted muscle memory to peck her chastely on the cheek. “Of course.”

Duke bounded down the stairs, on his way out, when he spotted Jon and Damian. Both boys sat cross legged on the plush living room carpet, leaning with their controls as if they could influence the game with their bodies. The television screen exploded with color and Jon gave a victory cry while Damian mumbled something about punitive kryptonite.

“What’re you playing?” Duke asked, striding over to get a better glimpse.

Jon took a sip of his glass of water before placing it on the floor next to him. “It’s called _No Justice_ ,” Jon said. He wiped his hand across his mouth. “All of the characters are pretty obviously based on real heroes, and they’re all evil. I think it’s anti-hero propaganda, but it’s fun.”

“It’s a combat game, with room for strategy and good graphics,” Damian muttered, stealing Jon’s glass to take several gulps. “Propaganda or not, it is well done.”

Duke hummed. “I want to play the winner of the next round,” he said.

Damian grinned. “Okay, Thomas. If you’re that eager for humiliation, I’d be glad to play you.”

“Hey!” Jon cried, indignantly. “You lost last round, what makes you so sure you’ll win this one?”

Damian smirked and restarted the game.

When Clark re-entered the house, Duke was sitting on the floor with Damian, intensely focused on the television screen. Clark has heard their little challenge, and he was warmed by the image of Duke and Damian playing video games while Jon leaned over Duke’s shoulder and shouted encouragement.

“Have you all eaten lunch?” Clark asked, over their war cries.

“Yes, Mom packed me a lunch and I ate it in the car,” Jon said without looking away from the screen.

“No, sir. On my way, out to grab a bite with Isabella,” Duke said, glancing back at Clark. Damian used his momentary distraction to swipe at Duke’s character, but Duke quickly refocused and regained the upper hand.

“I see. You’re practically out the door already,” Clark murmured. “Damian?”

“No,” Damian said. He paused a beat before asking, “Is there still food left from last night’s dinner in the refrigerator?”

Clark beamed. He knew he’d sell the kids on Ma’s lasagna recipe (amended for certain vegetarians in the family.) “There is. Want me to heat some up for you?”

Damian nodded curtly.

By the time evening fell, Duke was back from his date, Dick, Tim, and Jason were in various stages of half asleep in the living room while Jason’s movie pick, _Pride and Prejudice_ , played in the background. Cass wasn’t home, but Kate had called Bruce on his way out of the airport to let him know that Cass would be staying over for a few days while they worked on a case together. Damian had retired to his room to sketch and Jon was helping Clark prepare dinner.

When Bruce walked into the scene, the picture-perfect image of his family at peace was almost enough to shake the irritation of running into Green Lantern while in Coast City. Worst yet, standing by while Green Lantern handled a hostage situation with the delicate touch of a bull.

“Welcome home, love,” Clark murmured, leaving Jon to attend the food so that Clark could meet Bruce at the door, taking his luggage from him and pecking him on the lips. “Dinner’s in fifteen. Assuming Jon doesn’t eat all of it.”

Both men glanced over to where Jon was ‘taste testing’ the potato soup that he was supposed to be stirring. When he felt their glances, he quickly dunked the spoon back into the pot and stirred it with an innocent grin plastered on his face.

Bruce sighed in content. This was good.

This was bad.

Bruce frowned from where he stood over Damian, curled up in his bed. His fever was dramatically high and he was clutching his stomach. Every time he swallowed, he winced. Jon was still in his bed, biting his lip, blanket clenched in his fists.

“Is he okay?” Jon asked, quietly.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Damian murmured, voice scratchy and weak. “”M fine.”

“No. No, you’re sick,” Bruce murmured. Bruce’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “Don’t bother, Clark. I can handle this,” Bruce said out loud. Clark was already at work, but Clark had warned Bruce the night before about what Lois said. He imagined Clark was listening in quite intently. His phone quit vibrating.

“Stay in bed, Damian. I’m cancelling your tutors. You will stay hydrated and you will rest.”

“Yes, Father,” Damian murmured, eyes drooping.

“Jon, get ready for school. I’ll drive you,” Bruce said. Jon winced but didn’t argue. Having Bruce Wayne drive him to school was embarrassing, but as it was, Jon wouldn’t be ready in time for the bus.

Bruce left the room, taking the stairs two at a time. Damian would need water, fever reducers, honey, and likely antibiotics. He may need ginger tea, for his stomach. Leslie may have to visit. Bruce would prefer Alfred in the house for moments like this, but this also wasn’t the first time one of the boys was sick. One sick child was well within Bruce’s qualifications.

Passing by Duke and Tim’s room, Bruce paused. Normally, by this time in the morning, Bruce could hear Tim’s keys clacking and Duke preparing for school. But there was nothing but silence. Bruce knocked on the door. One of the boys groaned in response. He burst in, fully prepared for a home invasion or some nefarious, unfolding plot. Instead, he found Duke and Tim, both still in bed, faces flushed. No villain except for bacterial infection. 

“Sore throat?” Bruce asked. Duke tried to nod, but winced. Tim grunted.

This was fine. Bruce would just need a little more water, ginger, fever reducers, honey, probably some sort of broth soup, throat lozenges, pain killers for the headaches. Three sick children, entirely manageable.

If only just to punish himself, Bruce decided to check in on Dick and Jason too.

The scene was a bit different from what he saw with the others. Jason wasn’t tucked into bed, he was laid out on the floor, fully dressed and suspiciously close to the window. Dick wasn’t in the room at all.

“Jason, where’s your brother?” Bruce asked.  

Jason grunted. “I kicked his ass and he ran from me, cuz I’m… ugh. Talking hurts,” Jason hissed. “I don’t know where Dickhead is. Figure it out.”

“Swallow, do your ears hurt?” Bruce asked. Jason swallowed without snapping about Bruce delivering an order. That assurance enough that Jason was ill.

“Yeah,” Jason murmured.

“Where were you going?” Bruce asked, eyeing the window.

“Out,” Jason muttered. “No class today. Was meeting Roy and Kori.”

“We have a front door,” Bruce reminded him. Jason grunted.

Bruce helped a reluctant Jason to bed and then left the room, taking a deep breath. Four sick children. One potentially fifth sick child, wandering somewhere in the house. When Bruce made it to the kitchen, Jon was there, eating toast he’d made himself. If Clark were here, the toast would have already been out and waiting for him. If Alfred were here, there would be toast, eggs, bacon. Bruce closed his eyes. This was fine. He could parent. He’d been parenting. Most of his children were turning out alright. Jason’s murder rampage didn’t last too long. Dick dated questionably, but he’d never gotten anyone pregnant. Tim… sometimes slept. Cass and Damian had made strides. But Cass and Damian were independently strong and willful, and both desired to be good, and Bruce did nothing but allow them to exercise those golden, repressed parts of themselves and—

“…Bruce?” Jon asked, hesitantly. Bruce opened his eyes. School, yes.

But Dick was still missing. Bruce could not leave without Dick accounted for, even if Dick was an adult. He was an adult who was likely feverish and who liked to climb things. Bruce suddenly had a thought.

“Jon, I will be right back to take you to school. Wait here,” Bruce insisted. Jon nodded, taking another bite of his toast and Bruce took his leave, veering to the back of the house, where his and Clark’s bedroom was situated.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, Dick lay curled up on Bruce’s side of the mattress, tangled in the sheets, eyes half lidded.

“I take it you’re not feeling well?” Bruce asked. Dick nodded. Bruce approached Dick's bedside and rested the back of his hand against Dick's forehead. Hot. 

“Miss when it was just your bed,” Dick muttered. “Miss when your room felt familiar.”

Bruce hummed. “What is new now will become familiar. But, I need you in your own bed. I’m driving Jon to school, and I’ll be home soon.”

Dick grunted and stood, shuffling to follow Bruce from the bedroom. Bruce accompanied him up the stairs to his bedroom. Jason blearily opened his eyes when they walked in, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge them. Dick crawled into bed, and Bruce pecked his forehead. For good measure, he crossed the room and pecked Jason’s forehead too. Jason didn’t respond except to sigh.

Content that all of his birds were tucked into bed, Bruce returned to the kitchen and took Clark’s pick-up truck to drop him off at school—no need to make Jon uncomfortable by bringing the Mercedes Benz.

* * *

 

When Damian opened his eyes, he was alone. Jon was gone for school. As ill as Damian felt, he also felt disappointed. And lonely. And needy.

Wasting far too much effort, Damian heaved himself to his feet. He wrapped his comforter around his feverish body and shuffled out of the room and down the hall until he reached the door he wanted. He pushed in without knocking.  

Dick blinked at him and Jason pulled a pillow over his own head. Damian paid Jason no mind; Damian continued his shuffle until he stood near Dick’s bed. Dick didn’t hesitate to scoot back, closer to the wall, so that Damian and his mound of blanket could crawl in and burrow against Dick. Dick smiled, and pecked Damian’s too-warm forehead.

"You're invited too," DIck offered Jason. 

"Fever, Dick," Jason murmured. "Too hot to crawl into a bed of humans. Go to sleep. Dream of waking up to Alfred's tea." 

"Alfred's at the Manor," Dick reminded him. 

Jason snorted. "Not for long." 

* * *

 

On the way back to the house, Bruce caved and called Alfred.


End file.
